


Caveat Emptor

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Rape, things go horribly wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Jonathan Crane will live to regret his decision to meet with Ra’s Al Ghul to discern the potency of the hallucinogenic flower but, for the time-being, he can’t find any error in his judgment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caveat Emptor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written & posted in 2009 to AFF.Net, as a challenge to myself to write something I didn't feel comfortable writing.

            Doctor Jonathan Crane will live to regret his decision to meet with Ra’s Al Ghul to discern the potency of the hallucinogenic flower but, for the time-being, he can’t find any error in his judgment.  Ra’s is a polite enough man, for someone who lives his life with hundreds of trained killers, and on their trip back to Crane’s laboratory under Arkham Asylum, they have a light conversation on politics.  Neither cares for the other’s opinion but appearances are everything, especially in a city like Gotham.

            “You can see that we’re short on neither test subjects nor workers,” Crane finds himself saying as they ride the elevator down.  “Knowing what you want done would make it easier to estimate how many workers we’ll need.”

            “And your experiments,” Ra’s begins as they step from the elevator, “What do you plan on doing with those, once you acquire the flower?”  There’s a hint of amusement in the man’s voice, as though he knows the answer already.

            Crane is used to using entirely artificial toxins, which aren’t as potent as the flower is boasted to be and have some slight instability issues from batch to batch.  He’s certain, however, that explaining his desire to study and, eventually, conquer fear – the one thing he imagines Ra’s is _interested_ in – would be folly.

            “Continue them, naturally.  A steady, potent toxin would make my tests more consistent.”

            “I see.”

            Ra’s wanders the laboratory freely, looking over everything with a casual air.  It’s as if he already knows what to expect.  Crane clasps his hands behind his back and watches Ra’s clinically.

            “You said, in our correspondence, that you wanted to know the true potency and effect-time of my... _toxin._ ”

            Crane nods.  “ _Caveat emptor_.”

            “May the buyer beware,” Ra’s chuckles, pulling one blue flower from his heavy coat and holding it out to the doctor.  Perhaps Crane isn’t as cautious as he thinks he really is, because he doesn’t think twice about stepping forward to take it from the man’s hand.

            Ra’s grabs his arm and jerks him forward, twisting him back-to-chest.  Crane gives an experimental twist, struggling to break free, but relaxes when he finds that escape is impossible.

            “You _wanted_ a sample, doctor.”

            “On a _patient,_ yes.”

            Ra’s makes a disappointed sound and reaches to grab the doctor’s chin, tilting his head back and exposing his throat to the air.  “How can one attempt to _destroy_ fear, when one does not even know what it means to be _afraid?_ ”

            Crane kicks out almost involuntarily when he sees the canister in Ra’s’ hand – where would he have the resources to create an aerosol in his shithole of a _secret lair_?

            His first instinct is, naturally, to hold his breath; behind him, he can hear Ra’s inhale normally, even though the air is thick with fear toxin.  Crane’s last coherent thought is that whatever he makes will be strong enough to bring Ra’s himself to his knees.

            The ceiling warps, drawing down towards them in spikes and he recoils, crashing into Ra’s’ chest with a wince.  He struggles against the hand on his face, the one bringing Ra’s into his view, trying to steer his eyes away from the grotesquely malformed face taking shape on the man’s shoulder’s – eyes glowing red like street lamps, like hellfire, skin peeling and cracking as though he were decaying from the outside in.

            “ ** _What’s the matter, Doctor?_** ”  The thing is no longer Ra’s but something more, something terrifying that makes Crane renew his struggles with instinctual fear – it has a voice so deep and menacing that the doctor very nearly shits himself.  “ ** _You know so much about fear; believe you can rise above it..._** ”  A hand grabs his neck and he gags even without any pressure being applied, already anticipating the move.

            He tries to speak but all that comes out is the low exhalation of air, eyes transfixed on the lips shriveling up and back like a corpse’s would, revealing jagged teeth with bits of meat still stuck in them from its last meal – it grins and he lashes out with a hand, grabbing for something to hit this thing back with, _anything_ –

            A third hand grabs his wrist and pulls his arm painfully so that it’s hooked behind the demon’s neck, its serpentine tongue flashing out to lick at its lips before it leans its head in towards him.  He cries out and tries to move, but the beast says, “ ** _Be still,_** ” and God, _God_ he can’t say no –

            It tastes like charcoal and blood and Crane’s not sure how but it tastes like _fear_ , tongue worming its way into his mouth, past his teeth and to the back of his throat; he gags, tries to remind himself that it’s all just a hallucination, and fails when he opens his eyes and sees men being eviscerated in the beast’s eyes.

            He cries out, gagging on the tongue that’s less serpentine and more like an actual snake, jerking away and, somehow, slipping out of its grip.  He tries to shout at it as he stumbles backwards, hands reaching behind him to grab at anything, _anything,_ but now the room is so unfamiliar even though he’s spent most of his career down here, stalactites all around and the echoes of screaming and bats in the deep dark caverns above.  The beast steps forward and he sobs, grabbing onto a table to support himself as his legs give out.

            “Please,” he gasps, “ _Please_ -!”

            “ ** _Do you think fear listens to the pleas of children?_** ” it says, pace slow and hands – a multitude of them, though Crane can’t see where they connect to the body – reaching out towards him, wanting him back within reach.  “ ** _Do you think I will listen to you?_** ”

            Crane knows it won’t but he can’t find it in himself to run; it’s as if merely setting his gaze upon the beast has drawn the air out of his lungs.  He pants and tries to move but his fingers are clenching hard on the splintering wood.  “God, _please,_ I just-!”

            “ ** _There is nothing you can say to me,_** ” the beast says and Crane knows in his very soul – the thing he’s not even sure _exists_ – that it’s telling the truth.  There’s nothing here for him to say or do; he can’t run and he can’t fight.

            It steps up and puts its hands on either side of him; he leans back and shudders, shutting his eyes and turning his face away.  “ ** _Look at me, Doctor._** ”  He _can’t_ disobey, he just – if he does –

            He looks into the beast’s eyes again and tries very hard not to faint, not wanting to be unconscious around such a thing.  Tears build in the corners of his eyes and every slow blink blurs his eyesight even more; it’s almost impossible to see by the time it reaches out a hand to wrap around his neck.  He exhales once more before the hand clenches down, nails digging into his skin and palm pressing into his windpipe, closing it off.  He gags almost immediately and the beast wastes no time in sticking its snake-tongue down his throat again, curling it against the roof of his mouth like some thick, slimy slug.

            Two more hands grab his wrists and he tries to push it away, and it pushes him down onto the table, back bending painfully until he wriggles up to relieve pressure.  When a fourth hand grabs his flaccid penis through his pants, he finally finds it in himself to scream, legs kicking out only to be pinned back by the beast’s thighs, iron under mottled skin and torn pants.

            “ ** _What is the meaning of fear, doctor?_** ” it asks as it pulls away, slug-snake tongue rolling over its lips as if sampling a wine, God it has needleteeth and it’s touching him and he can’t he can’t he won’t –

            “Let me go,” he tries to say, but it comes out in a wordless whine, everything growing blurry as he feels near ready to faint, it isn’t letting go, oh _please_ , no, if he falls unconscious it will, it will, _it will_ –

            “ ** _You see, the effects are slower than they are with what you might use normally._** ”  Its hand is rubbing him through his pants while the others are still pinning his arms down and choking him and he can’t _breathe_ – “ ** _What starts as a hallucination builds into an incoherent nightmare.  Do you feel it, yet?_** ”  It draws near to his face, blazing eyes pinning him down, “ ** _The sanity you had before.  The ability to run, to plead – it dribbles out of your mind like water through a leaky tap.  Now you’re feeling light-headed,_** ” he was, oh God, he was choking to death, he didn’t _want_ – “ ** _You think you will die but we both know I won’t let that happen.  I still need you, Doctor.  So tell me._** ”  It removes its hand from his throat and he gasps for air, trying to build the tension to scream but every breath leaves too fast, “ ** _What is the meaning of fear?_** ”

            It almost looks like it expects an answer but it only laughs when he tries to respond, mouth working but no sounds coming out.  The ceiling dips very suddenly and he sobs, yanking futilely against the hold on his arms.  He wants to curl up, to pull away to be left _alone,_ but the hand between his legs tells him the monstrous truth, that he isn’t _getting away_ , that this is all too real and now another hand – he’s lost track of how many there are – is reaching for the beast’s own pants.  He turns his head away and closes his eyes, feeling the hand on him reach for his zipper, dragging tooth by tooth so slowly, slowly down.

            “Please don’t do this,” he manages to gasp, “Please, I just – _please._ ”

            The beast responds by leaning in and licking a long path from his jaw to his ear.  “ ** _You know that you cannot beg your way out of this._** ”  And he _does_ know and that’s what makes it so much worse.  In a world where he has the control, he’s suddenly the pawn, unable to do anything but moan in terror like one of his _patients_ , “ ** _I think I prefer this version of you._** ”

            “God, I just – I don’t want this,” he responds, as if it will listen and it does, laughing at his ridiculous pleas and undoing his belt, now, the button long since undone, the fabric dropping down to his knees.

            “ ** _Doctor, I believe you’ve realized this by now: fear is all about control.  About losing that control._** ”  The hands are removed and he sobs, his entire body slack from the utter drain that the beast’s presence has on him.  It grabs him by the hair after a moment, then the shoulder, fingers digging into his scalp.  He cries out as it pushes him over, onto his stomach, trying to kick out again because now the situation is too real, so _horrifyingly real_ and he can’t escape this.

            He feels the beast lean into him, seemingly unperturbed that he’s not even half-hard, its own erection pressing against him, naked, mottled skin against skin.  “ ** _And I believe that you have finally lost that control._** ”

            It grabs him by the hair and yanks him upwards, another hand wrapping around his neck once more, making him gasp.  “Please,” he tries again, “I know – I-I know I’m not – I’m not ready but please, t-there has... has to be some other _way,_ y-you can go you can _stop_ , please, I just...!”

            It doesn’t seem to adjust itself, doesn’t seem to care and it thrusts into him with one solid, quick movement, only half inside him and he screams and screams, dragging in air only to scream again.  The pain is terrible, he can’t even see straight, eyes gazing blindly out at the blackness that now creates the rest of his world.  It pauses, lets him gain his breath, but there’s no adjusting to the tearing pain, the hot burn and he can’t relax even though he knows that’s the only thing that will _help at all now_ –

            Another thrust and it is completely embedded in him, ripping fresh screams from his throat.  “ _No, no, no!  God please no please stop stop **stop**_!”

            It simply laughs.  “ ** _Stop?  I’ve hardly begun._** ”

            After the first few thrusts, he finds that he just can’t breathe in enough air to scream and besides, what would it help?  Nobody’s coming; they’re in Hell now, he’s certain of it, and this thing behind him grabs his hair, yanking his head up.  His fingers claw distantly at the table, as if he could crawl away from this, and it isn’t long before the thing speaks again.

            “ ** _Do not distance yourself from your terror, Doctor._** ”  He moans under his breath, sobbing at the beast’s grunting and harsh, jerking movements.  “ ** _Instead, accept it._** ”

            Another hand dragged over his mouth, stuck rancid, molding fingers into his mouth, “ ** _Now, suck._** ”  And he did what he was told because he had choked to death some time ago and now he was in Hell, none of this is real or it is all he’ll ever know again and either way, what difference did it make?  Somewhere behind him, the beast groans, thrusting harder into him.  He can feel blood dripping.

            “ ** _Everyone must give themselves to their fears,_** ” it murmurs into his ear, withdrawing its fingers from his mouth with a low _pop_ , “ ** _It is the only way to conquer them._** ”

            From then on it’s only silence – he can’t find it in him to scream and all the beast wants to do is grunt and moan and fuck him, the passage sounding sickenly wet from the tearing it has caused.  He feels every thrust as if it were the first but now it’s through a distant haze of exhaustion.  Every so often he tries to ask it to stop, but it comes out as nothing more than a murmur or a sob.

            It pauses at one point and a hand finds its way between his legs; he jerks away but there’s nowhere to go as the hand grips him too tightly.  Nails dig into soft flesh and he chokes back a sob, shaking his head because he can feel that he’s half-hard, some part of him liking this somehow, maybe? He knows somewhere in the screaming incoherency of his mind that that _isn't right_ but -  “Stop,” he whines, and it tugs hard; he cries out and digs his nails into the softening wood under his fingers, “Please, just – let it _end_.”

            And it does end, minutes later with three sharp, hard thrusts and a low rumble from the beast’s throat, hot and disgusting semi-liquid being left in him even as it pulls out.

            The world is coming back into focus now but the beast is still there, turning him around and pushing him to the floor.  He sits on his knees and finds himself staring up at this thing that almost seems to have the distinct features of Ra’s Al Ghul again.

            It grabs his hair and presses its cock, now growing flaccid after its release, up against his lips.  He retches at the sight and smell of the putrid thing, covered in cum and blood and the beasts uses that to its advantage, forcing him to suck and lick it until it’s relatively clean, makes sure he even swallows.  When it finally steps away he allows himself to drop to his hands and vomit, muscles trembling and glasses slipping down his nose.

            It chuckles without the same deep baritone.  “You will get your shipment, doctor.  I think you can see that it is... most powerful.”

            Crane gags and reaches up, shoving fingers down his throat until he vomits again, most of it stomach acid this time, and when he finally looks up, the beast – and Ra’s Al Ghul – is gone.

            It will be weeks before he can taste anything beyond the blood and putrid waste.  To this day, his dreams are riddled with images of the beast, slug-like tongue licking its lips as it approaches with innumerable hands reaching for his retreating form.  He always wakes when it catches him.


End file.
